Memory is truly fascinating, isn't it? If it's weak, it's a problem, and if it's sharp, it's even more of a problem. Obviously, not every memory is pleasant. A weak memory might allow one to forget an event, but a sharp memory keeps replaying that painful memory in the mind, as if a movie is running on the screen of the brain. With every scene, the heart sinks, the mind moves toward restlessness, and a seed of regret keeps growing, nourishing every drop of blood. A sharp memory never allows forgetting. Forgetting, too, is a blessing, but only the one who remembers its significance knows it. Those who are living years after years, stuck in the web of lost time, know just how crucial forgetting is.

He runs aimlessly. Tears are flowing from his eyes, and the towering peak of remorse is visible everywhere to him. There are no clear thoughts in his mind. In the midst of it all, he occasionally sees the image of Manjari. That sweet face that was drenched in tears that day. How she had suddenly become a part of Mayur's life. Then, in the next scene, Mridula appeared, floating. Walking, he had no idea where he had come. Walking through narrow alleys, he often felt like he was going in circles. However, he wasn't concerned about it; perhaps he actually wanted to lose himself.